Elysia
Chapter 16: A Gift and a Request

Weeks turned into a month, then two. A serene and predictable rhythm settled over the Aurora Palace, a harmony of quiet companionship. Elina, nurtured by perfect food, peaceful sleep, and a library containing the knowledge of galaxies, blossomed. The frail, timid child who arrived clutching a pebble was transforming. Her cheeks gained a healthy blush, her steps became confident, and her fox ears, once perpetually drooped in caution, now often twitched with bright curiosity.

Her greatest joy remained the indoor conservatory, the garden where the flora was woven from starlight. She would spend hours there, talking to the light-flowers and humming the simple lullaby Elysia had played for her on the piano. The melody was her most treasured possession after her stone; it was a song of safety, a song of home.

One afternoon, as she sat beside a patch of slightly dimmer Moon-Petal blossoms, she hummed the lullaby. She poured all the contentment and gratitude in her small heart into the simple tune. As the notes left her lips, she saw something incredible happen. The dim petals before her began to glow brighter, their soft blue light intensifying, pulsing in time with her song. A wave of warmth and vitality washed over the plants, making them stand a little taller, a little prouder.

Elina stopped humming, her eyes wide with shock. Hesitantly, she began to hum again, focusing on the flowers. The effect repeated. A soft, green-gold aura, almost invisible, emanated from her, nurturing the life it touched.

At that moment, a translucent window, similar to the ones she had seen in the library's historical projections, flickered into existence before her eyes. It was the first one she had ever generated herself.

[Skill Discovered: [Song of Life] (Rank: F)]

Description: A gentle song that soothes and nurtures life in your immediate vicinity. The effect is minimal, but pure.

She stared at the notification, her heart pounding with an excitement so fierce it made her tail wag involuntarily. Magic. Her own magic. It wasn't borrowed from a book-orb or granted by the palace. It came from inside her.

Forgetting everything else, she scrambled to her feet and ran from the conservatory, her mind buzzing with a single, electrifying idea. An idea born from the images she had seen in the Scrying Basin—of wounded knights and blighted lands. An idea born of empathy, now coupled with a sliver of newfound ability.

She found Elysia in the library, as she often did. The Ruler of Hell was observing a silent, magnificent hologram of a dying star collapsing into a black hole, her expression one of clinical, cosmic detachment. She seemed as distant and untouchable as the celestial event she was witnessing. But Elina, now armed with a purpose, felt a surge of courage.

"Lady Elysia! Lady Elysia, look!" she called out, her voice echoing in the vast, quiet chamber.

Elysia turned her head slowly, her gaze shifting from the death of a sun to the breathless child running towards her. She raised an eyebrow slightly.

Elina stopped before her, panting. "Look!" she repeated. She spotted a small, potted crystal fern on a nearby table, one of Elysia’s decorative creations. She took a deep breath and began to hum her lullaby, channeling all her focus into the plant. A faint green aura enveloped the fern, and its crystalline leaves began to shimmer, glowing with a renewed, vibrant light.

Elysia watched the display, her head tilted. Her mind analyzed the phenomenon instantly. A passive manifestation of life affinity, likely absorbed from the ambient energy of the World Tree and my own aura. Catalyzed by harmonic resonance. Predictable. The skill rank is pathetically low, but the mana purity is surprisingly high.

"I have magic," Elina said, her voice filled with a pride and wonder that was utterly infectious. She looked up at Elysia, her golden-brown eyes shining with a bold, new idea. "Lady Elysia… this skill… it can heal, right? Like Lady Yui, the Hero?"

Before Elysia could give a technically accurate but emotionally deflating answer, Elina rushed on, her words tumbling out in her excitement. "If… if I train very, very hard, can I someday help? Maybe I can go with the soldiers and sing for them when they are hurt? Or I could go to the dark lands and sing to the dying trees? I want to help them!"

The request, so pure and earnest, struck the very foundation of Elysia’s carefully constructed peace. It was a fundamental challenge to her entire philosophy of retirement. Her goal was to build walls around her sanctuary, to keep the noisy, messy world out. This child, the centerpiece of her new, quiet life, was now asking for permission to run straight into the heart of that chaos.

A cold rejection formed in her mind. No. Absurd. Involving oneself in a futile mortal war is the pinnacle of inefficiency. It is the path to endless disturbance, to pain and loss. I brought you here to be safe, not to become a target. She saw Elina’s desire as a direct threat to the perfect, controlled environment she had built for them both.

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She opened her mouth to deliver the cold, logical refusal that would end this foolish notion forever.

But she looked down and saw Elina’s face. It was not the face of a glory-seeking warrior. It was the face of a child who had known nothing but helplessness, who had just discovered she had the power to give, and whose first instinct was to offer that gift to others. To crush that pure, nascent desire would be like stepping on the first flower to bloom after a long winter. It would be… cruel. And a sad, heartbroken Elina would be a far greater disturbance to her peace than any far-off war.

Once again, Elysia found herself trapped by her own logic. The most efficient path to her own tranquility was to nurture the spirit of the child in her care.

She let out a long, silent sigh. A compromise was needed. A way to grant the child’s wish without ever letting her leave the safety of the palace.

"Your desire to help is… impractical," Elysia began, her voice retaining its analytical chill, which made Elina’s hopeful expression falter. "But your desire to become stronger is a logical one."

She looked Elina directly in the eyes. "You will not go to any battlefield. You will not leave these grounds to 'help' anyone. That is my final decision." The boundary was set, absolute and unbreachable.

Elina’s ears drooped.

"However," Elysia continued, a new plan forming in her mind. "If you wish to master that 'song' of yours, you require a teacher far better than instinct."

Elysia made a subtle gesture with her hand. From a shadowy corner of the library, where no one had been a moment before, a figure emerged. It was a woman of breathtaking, natural beauty. Her skin was the color of aged birch bark, her long hair was like a cascade of woven green leaves and white blossoms, and her eyes held the ancient, placid wisdom of the forest itself. She was a Dryad, an ancient spirit of the wood.

Elina stared, speechless.

"Her name is Laethel," Elysia explained. "She has been singing the songs of life since this world was young. She will be your tutor."

The Dryad, Laethel, gave Elina a warm, gentle smile and bowed her head gracefully to Elysia.

"That is not all," Elysia said. She beckoned for Elina to follow. She led her back to the indoor conservatory, to a special, isolated section enclosed by a wall of clear crystal. Inside the enclosure was a patch of earth about the size of a small bed. But it was not healthy soil. It was black, cracked, and corrupted, emanating a faint aura of decay. It was a sample of the Blight she had discreetly retrieved after cleansing the distant fortress.

"This," Elysia said, gesturing to the dead earth, "is your canvas. Your battlefield. Your patient. Belajarlah dari Laethel. Learn from her. Master your song. When you can make this blighted earth bloom with life again, then you will have proven your strength."

Elina looked from the patch of dead soil, to the ancient, smiling Dryad, and then back to Elysia. Her simple wish to help had not been rejected. It had been transformed into a grand, magical challenge. She had been given a personal tutor—a spirit of the forest—and her own piece of the world to heal, all within the safety of the palace walls.

With a newfound determination shining in her eyes, she looked at Elysia, her heart swelling with a gratitude so immense she could not find the words for it. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you, Lady Elysia."

Laethel stepped forward and knelt beside the corrupted soil. She hummed a single, ancient note, a sound that felt like the turning of seasons. In response, at the very edge of the blighted patch, a tiny, vibrant green sprout pushed its way through the black earth.

Elina watched, her mouth agape in wonder. Her journey to find her own power, guided by the reluctant hand of her magnificent, enigmatic guardian, had just taken a profound and beautiful new turn. From a distance, Elysia observed them, telling herself this was merely an efficient way to keep the child occupied and safe. But deep within the fortress of her soul, she felt a flicker of something she refused to identify. It might have been pride.